Santa Hood
by Swissmounty
Summary: Whodunit? And why? And that's only half the problem. Crossover SOSF – Ironside, set December 1970
1. Chapter 1

"Good morning!" greeted Eve Whitfield, walking down the ramp in Ironside's office/apartment with her easy step, but maybe a little more determinedly than usual, "Chief, you won't believe this!"

"No, I don't believe that this is a holiday!" grumbled Ironside.

Eve glanced at her watch. "Am I late?" Only now she became aware of the two young men who were sitting at the octagonal table: her colleague Ed Brown and Steve Keller, a rookie from homicide.

The latter smiled up to her. "No, you aren't, Eve. We're early." Her heart took a little flip. She wasn't used to being treated so charmingly. Sure, Ed was always polite and very chivalrous, but he was so clumsy and shy; Mark behaved like a teenager towards her most of the time and the Chief... that was a different matter. She loved him with all her heart, but since he was paralyzed he apparently didn't want a close relationship with any woman.

But she didn't get any time to savor the sun ray of this Thursday morning.

"Lt. Stone didn't send his assistant up here to make small talk. He needs our help in what will probably be a murder case soon." He showed her the gun Steve had brought up, a Walter PPK. "Query: Who used this gun? Our colleagues found it in Eddy Street near a little boy who apparently had witnessed a shooting. The victim is an old bum who is now in critical condition in General Hospital."

"What else do we have?" asked Eve, all business.

"Nothing."

"Fingerprints?"

"They're smudged. Nothing usable. Find out who the victim was, who shot him and why."

"Why us, Chief?" It was what Ed had been wondering as well.

"Because this is Howard Cunningham's gun."

"_The_ Howard Cunningham's?"

"Are there two of them?"

Since he didn't seem to be willing to give away more Steve stepped in, "He says that his gun was stolen some time ago. He can't be the shooter since he is with his wife's family in England right now at some Royal's birthday; about 500 witnesses. But he is afraid of a possible scandal of course, and that's where your team comes in."

The trio left together to do the basic research: archives, crime reports, looking for possible witnesses.

* * *

"What was it the Chief would not believe, Eve?" asked Steve in the elevator. It proved to Eve that he was genuinely interested in what troubled her.

"Oh, nothing too important. We had a little family reunion last night. It turned out that my mother, my cousin and my aunt were all victims of thefts last Saturday."

"I do believe you, Eve," said Steve ingenuously.

Eve's relatives were all well-off. Did he want to say that it was no wonder that somebody wanted a bit of their wealth? There had been no irony in his voice, but still Eve glanced warily at him. "It's not funny!"

Steve hurried to make his point clearer, "I meant, it's a strange coincidence, but such things happen."

"Ironside would say that he doesn't believe in coincidences," Ed threw in.

"There's even more coincidence. All the thefts happened in stores – three different stores though. Each of my relatives was doing Christmas shopping."

"Did they report the thefts to the police?" asked Steve.

"No, they felt too embarrassed. And then – it's not that they could not afford the financial loss."

"But it is still annoying when you bought presents for your loved ones and they get stolen," said Steve sympathetically.

* * *

The Cunninghams and the Whitfields were members of the same clubs, they had graduated from the same schools and they even shared their hairdressers and tailors. Therefore it was obviously Eve who had to question the part of Cunningham's family who had stayed in the USA.  
They were very helpful but there was not much to know. The gun had been stolen Saturday two weeks ago, they said.

Reliable Ed Brown read the police report of the incident. He learned that when the police arrived, the ambulance was just rushing off, as the victim was in peril of death. The officers had found a little boy named Bernie kneeling where the old man had been lying, a gun next to him. He had told the police that there had been a shot. He had found the old man lying on the ground. The boy had run to the telephone booth and called the operator for an ambulance, which fortunately had arrived quickly. Sadly enough children in the 60s had a better relationship with the operator than their parents.  
But Bernie didn't seem to know anything about the shooter. Ed called the hospital. He was told that the victim was still unconscious.

Steve drove to Eddy Street and questioned residents and homeless persons of the area. Some had heard the shot, but a shot was nothing unusual in the Tenderloin, and for sure not something to go near. Nobody had seen a shooter, but they knew that the victim was old Amos. Why somebody should want to kill old Amos? Nobody would want to kill old Amos. Why should they?

* * *

The three young detectives shared the results of their work.

"Eve, when, did you say, was that gun stolen?" asked Ed, who had to take the lead.

"Saturday, two weeks ago."

"Ah, another one of these coincidences!" exclaimed Steve.

Ed frowned. "You mean the thefts in the stores?" He didn't like coincidences any more than the Chief, but then – "We have roughly 100 _reported_ crimes per day, on Saturdays even a bit more. So four thefts committed on a Saturday, three of them not even reported, can't be considered a 'coincidence'. Looking for connections between all of them would keep us occupied until Christmas; and it wasn't even the same Saturday."

"There's another 'coincidence'. In all the cases the victims are well off," Steve pointed out.

"The victim of the shooting wasn't," objected Ed. "He was – is – a homeless person."

Steve had to agree. "Yeah, right. Only the victims of the thefts were."

Eve didn't like the topic too much. There was no fundamental difference between rich and poor people, was there? Who would rob people just because they were rich?

Ed didn't say what he thought: that it was probably more profitable.

Steve felt the need to help Eve's relatives – or was it the desire to impress her? "Let me talk to Mike Stone. I could investigate the thefts under the reference that there could be a connection to the Cunningham case."

Ed always wanted to please everybody, and particularly Eve, whom he... well..., but he had to be realistic. "We have an important case on our hands and the Chief's due at a conference. He won't let me chase a phantom, as he'd call it. But keep me informed, will you?"

Eve on the other hand would accompany the Chief to the session, leaving Ed alone with all the work in the office. Yet she gave her colleagues a description of the stolen items – although nobody could seriously believe that they would ever show up again.

* * *

Steve and Mike left together for a beer on their way home to catch up, as Mike would also be attending the conference with Rudy, too. "I'm glad that you don't make me work overtime quite as much as Ironside does his sergeant," noted Steve.

Mike eyed him somewhat suspiciously. "Huh? What's the matter? You wouldn't schmooze me if you didn't want something from me."

Steve looked hurt. "I don't schmooze you and I don't want anything. I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate an early finishing time every once in a while."

"Yeah, sure. And what is it you want? The day off tomorrow?"

"Err, no, not exactly."  
Steve reported his mentor the thefts.

"Aww, face it, buddy boy, this is a cold trail. You know that the clearance rate for simple thefts goes towards zero. And I can't see a connection between these thefts. Otherwise you would have to join all the thefts happening on a Saturday."

That was more or less what Ed Brown had said.

"Your job is the shooting in Eddy Street, and there is no reason to suppose that it has anything to do with the thefts in the warehouses."

"Ok, then, Mike. Would you give me the day off tomorrow, or at least a few hours? You know that I have enough overtime!"

"Miss Whitfield is an awfully pretty woman, isn't she?" teased Mike. "Ok, since Ed is alone to hold the fort in Ironside's office and since the old bum is not responsive yet I don't expect much of a progress tomorrow anyway. You can take a few hours off. But keep track of the man in the hospital and ask Ed whether he needs you, will you?"

"Thanks, Mike! I have a hunch that this will pay off!"

Mike grinned. "Oh, I'm sure it will... Eve won't miss your efforts, buddy boy!"

* * *

_Author's note:_

_This story was written as a Christmas present for Briroch.  
She was kind enough to correct it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The next day – the day of the conference - Steve paid one of the stores Eve had mentioned, a visit. It was terribly crowded. It was just before Christmas, after all. He observed a big, fat Santa Claus. Steve had loved Santa as a kid, but this one seemed to be stressed out and awfully busy. He hardly had time to listen to the kids' wishes. Things had changed a lot over the last two decades! The Santa was sweating heavily under his red costume. Somehow Steve felt an aversion to him.

He scolded himself. He wasn't here to indulge in reminiscences or to judge an old man who merely did his job, but to solve crimes.

He turned around and watched the people around him. There were mostly women with and without small children and elderly people right now. Of course the men and many women had to work at this hour on weekdays. And the thieves? Had the thefts taken place on Saturdays because the thieves only 'worked' on Saturdays?

What kind of thieves would work on Saturdays only?! Maybe students!

Involuntarily his glance turned back to the depressing Santa Claus. If he weren't that fat, then he could hide a lot of stolen goods under his costume. Maybe not all Santas were fat?

There was a chance that some stores employed students as Santas. They would only work on Saturdays, when most parents were bringing their children for visits.

Ten minutes later Steve was facing a very busy store director in his office.

"People should report thefts immediately, then the chances of catching the thieves would be much higher! We have excellent house detectives. Anyway, I don't think that there are many thefts in our store..."

Steve tried to calm him down. Nobody accused him of anything. "I just want to know if you employ students as Santas."

"Usually not. A slender young man isn't exactly what you expect under a Santa's costume. But this year we were a bit short of personnel. We needed more helpers. I think there are a few students."

Steve was sent to the personnel manager. He was still young and somehow he had managed to keep a sense of humor. He confirmed that there were indeed five students working as Santas. Two of them were high school seniors who only worked Saturdays because of school during the week.

Keller continued his research in the other stores Eve had mentioned. The situation was the same: Not enough Santas this year. In each of them there were high school students working Saturdays as Santas this year.

Steve noted their names and addresses.

Next task was to run a background check on all of them.

The young inspector sighed. If he had to do all this work alone it would keep him busy until...

Staring at the addresses he noticed that most of the boys were living in Mission district, four out of the seven in the Tenderloin. Ok, maybe this wasn't so surprising after all. This was an area inhabited by poor people mostly, whose kids needed to work to make a living. And then they might have talked to each other and learned of this job opportunity. Maybe they even went to school together!

It might save him a lot of legwork if he started the investigation at this end.

A phone call was enough to find out that one of them attended Polytechnic High School, and a second confirmed that every single one of the seven young Santas were students of this old educational institution.

By the time Keller had found out that much, he decided to share his knowledge with Sgt. Brown, who was very impressed about his efficiency. He started to believe that there might be more than a coincidence. He scratched his head as often when deep in thoughts.

"You know what – Poly was my high school. I graduated there in 1957."

"They were famous for their football team, weren't they?"

Ed grinned. "Yes, our team won the City Championship during most of the forties and in the beginning of the fifties."

"I suppose you were on the team?"

"Yeah, but in 1956 we lost in the final game." He didn't mention that he had won the Championship with them in 1955.

"I suppose I'll pay them a visit, right?"

The dutiful sergeant hesitated and glanced at the piled up files on his desk with a blatant lack of enthusiasm. Ironside had left him a workload which wasn't to be mastered in 24 hours. "This is _my_ old school. Somehow this makes the matter personal."

"Come with me! The files won't bite you because of that."

_The files probably won't,_ thought Ed and picked up his jacket.

* * *

On their way they discussed what Steve had found out.

If the Santas were thieves, then they had to be working together with helpers – maybe smaller kids. What if the Santas distracted the parents and the younger children emptied their pockets, then they gave the stuff to the Santas who hid them under their costumes?

"Sounds plausible to me," commented Steve. "But what do they do with the stolen goods?"

"There must be an adult fence involved, I'd say."

* * *

Together they entered the run-down building which hadn't been attractive even in its best times, which obviously were long gone.

They found themselves in a dull hallway.

"Eddie? Edward Brown, the fastest gentleman on the football field – is that really you?"

Ed turned around. A tiny white-haired man with a cane hurried to join them.

"Really – it's you! What a delight to see you, my boy!" The old teacher was beside himself with joy.

Steve had to suppress a grin. The "boy" was older than himself and towered over the seasoned educator.

"Cyrus! Cyrus Carpenter, look who's here!" shouted the teacher.

A middle-aged, tired-looking man with thick glasses shuffled by. He hugged Ed Brown, who had turned into a pillar of salt.

"How nice of you to come, Ed! Do we know your friend as well?"

No, Steve had not attended this school, and he told them so.

"Eddie was an excellent student, and without a doubt, the most polite one ever," explained Mayers, the white-haired math teacher and Vice Principal of Poly. "Every teacher wanted him to become a teacher – of their own subject."

That wasn't quite true: Ed had never been good at foreign languages.

"He qualified for a scholarship of Berkeley but declined it. Instead he chose to care for his mother who was sick. - But you are wearing a suit and tie, Eddie. So this means that you have taken up a respectable profession, right?"

"Hum..." said Ed, unsure whether they would consider police business as being something respectable.

Steve felt that if Ed could not speak up for himself he needed to step in for him. "He is a police detective now, and he works with the famous Chief Ironside!"

"Oh, I'm impressed! A most useful occupation! How can we help you, Officer Brown?"

"It's sergeant, sir, not officer," corrected Steve.

"Could we maybe..." asked Ed, pointing discreetly towards the Vice Principal's office. The teachers' voices as well as Steve's were very audible in the long hallway and Ed wasn't particularly keen on publicity right now.

"Of course, my boy, of course. Come on in!"

The furniture looked exactly the way Ed remembered it, only shabbier.

Mayers noticed his former model student's glance. "You have sharp eyes, Eddie. And you are right: this school isn't what it used to be. The fifties, your time, my boy, those were the times. We have always been a 'blue collar' school, but a fine one. It was 'either brain or brawn'. You had both. Now you don't need any of them anymore. Sometimes I think that the decline started on Thanksgiving 1957, when our football team lost the championship to Balboa, I suppose."

Ed must have left before that game, thought Steve with not much coherence, but probably that hadn't been the only reason for the decline of Polytechnic High School.

"It's a long, sad story. People don't want to enroll their kids into Poly anymore. Our test scores have gone down. We don't have many students like you, Eddie, students who are at the same time smart, athletic and studious. You also worked nights to support your mother, didn't you?  
It's a different time now too. There are regular student disruptions, violence and high absentee rates. This school, I fear, has no future."

Although Ed had basically known that things weren't going smoothly for his 'alma mater', he still needed a few seconds to stomach this news, uttered so bluntly. No wonder some kids might be looking for money in the wrong places!

Steve, being less emotionally involved, was quicker to react. "Maybe the future of the school isn't the important thing, but the future of the youngsters?"

"Wisely spoken, my friend," answered Carpenter. "But I am too disillusioned to see this future. College graduates like Ed Brown or people getting scholarships for their achievements in sports, that's the big exception today. Most are lucky to get some kind of work when they leave here, and too many drop out – the Haight is too close, the drugs, you know... many of them will end there."

Now Ed spoke up, though very respectfully, "Sirs, I owe you and this school more than I can ever say. I'd like to help the school and the students if I can. But I'm in need of your help on a case."

"This is the spirit I remember of Ed Brown: always there with all his energy to do what's right. Of course, my boy. Tell us what you need and how we can help you."

Ed told it to them, and readily Mayers went to get the old year books.

"Look, that's Jock Polsky out there, one of the boys on your list!" exclaimed Carpenter.

The detectives noticed a boy who was taller than Steve, broad-shouldered and a little overweight. His jacket pockets looked baggy. Were there any stolen goods in them?

"Steve..."

"On my way!" exclaimed Steve and hurried out. It might be interesting to see where Jock was headed: just home or maybe somewhere to sell the content of his pockets?

The boy didn't notice that he was being shadowed. He used the bus to get northwards, getting off in the Tenderloin. Steve followed him.

Suddenly he almost stumbled over a little girl in his way.

"Hey, mister, have you seen my momma?" she asked, and brighter traces on her dirty face proved that she had most probably cried.

Steve was deeply touched. He had called his mother momma, and he had lost her once as well. On the other hand he had to follow the boy from Poly. Feverishly he pondered what he could do to help the poor kid.

From a side road two boys approached. They were a couple years older than the little girl. "Oh, Cindy, here you are!" exclaimed one of them. "We were looking for you everywhere. Your momma is sick from worry about you! Come home, quick!"  
He seemed to understand that Steve wanted to help. "Thanks, mister. We will take her home."

Relieved that one problem was solved Steve hurried to follow his suspect.

Of a distance he saw the boy enter a run-down house in O'Farrell Street. Not much later he reached the door. It was unlocked. Steve opened it carefully... nobody was in sight. Steve took heart and entered.  
From the left he heard voices. He stepped towards a second, closed door, hoping to understand what the people in there were saying.

Behind him, he heard another door open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Behind him, he heard another door open. "How did you get in here?"

It was a middle-aged man with a scar on his cheek. That was all Steve could discern in the twilight.

"Through the door. It was unlocked."

"I know that, smartass. Why are you here?"

Steve had to extemporize. There had to be a fence somewhere, Ed had said... Maybe this was him. "I heard that you are trading with... I mean, you buy things for cash..." He tried to look as young as possible.

"Who told you so?"

"A friend..."

The man seemed to take a decision. "Come on in. What is it you want to sell?"

_Oh, great!_ Steve had outsmarted himself.

"I have a watch." He took off his watch and showed it to the fence.

The man took it and examined it. "Nothing special."

Of course he would say so!  
But at least he admitted to being a dealer not asking any questions.

"I can give you twenty bucks; may even lose on it."

Steve cringed. The watch was worth a lot more. He was spared an answer though. The door opened again and two uniformed police officers burst in.

"Put your hands on your heads!"

Both men complied, but Steve explained quickly, "There's no need for this, I'm a police officer myself."

"You are?" The officer didn't look convinced. "Where do you have your ID?"

Steve wanted to reach into his pocket.

"Leave that be! I'll take it."

He unbuttoned the jacket and pulled it off Steve's shoulders. Of course he was right to do it that way.

He searched it thoroughly. "Ok, pal, enough comedy. There's no ID in this jacket. You can think about it in a cell."

Steve appalled. "It's got to be there, in my wallet!"

"Nice try. There's no wallet either."

The kids! The little girl must have distracted him, and one of the boys had stolen his wallet. It was incredible.

"It must have been stolen!"

"Yeah, sure."

"Listen, you can prove what I say..."

"Of course, and the watch you were about to sell was your own, too, wasn't it?"

Steve sighed. They would not believe him!

The fence threw an angry glance at him. _He_ at least believed that Steve was a cop!

They were manacled together and taken to Central police station on Vallejo Street.

* * *

When Chief Ironside came home to his office/apartment after the conference, he found his sergeant brooding over the work he had given to him, trying to catch up the time he'd lost.  
This was no surprise. Ironside hadn't expected that everything would be finished.  
But since he had met some old friends and the conference had been surprisingly interesting, he was in a generous mood. "Call it a day, Ed. These files will still be here tomorrow."

Strangely enough Ed didn't look too happy about the permission to leave.

"What's the matter? Isn't there a girl waiting for you around every corner of San Francisco?"

Ed tried to please him, "With the hours I work here?!"  
Then he turned serious and shook his head. He wasn't really up to joking right now. "Steve Keller should have called back long ago. I'm a little worried about him."

"Have you tried his car phone?"

"Of course."

"Accident reports?"

"Not yet. Thought I had to stick to my work..."

"That's ok. Do what you need to do to find the kid detective, or else Mike Stone will start to hyperventilate."

Ed knew how to look for a missing person without putting an APB on him. Ironside was not the least concerned. His sergeant was perfectly capable of finding the boy – if he was missing at all.  
Exceptionally happy with the world and himself, he busied himself with preparing his favorite meal: A big pot of very hot chili.

Mike Stone hadn't returned to the office after the conference; there was no need for that. He wanted to check on Steve though. When he didn't reach him either in the office or in his car or at home, he called Ironside's office. Maybe he was with Ed Brown, or at least the sergeant knew where he was.

Ironside's right hand man sounded unsettled.

"Oh, don't fret, soldier. Sometimes he puts his phone into the fridge to be undisturbed."

"Don't you think he would have contacted me first after I sent him after that suspect?"

That was true. Steve might be a little quick with his decisions, but never unprofessional.

"Sir, if something happened to him I would think that it was in the area of responsibility of Central. They would most likely know about it. I was just about to call them."

"Do that. I will drop by myself. Let's see what we can find out between the two of us."

* * *

Mike was close to Vallejo Street anyway. It only took him two minutes to reach Central police station.

Officer Perry, who was sitting at the reception desk, got the shock of his life when Lt. Stone started to question him like a school boy who has forgotten his homework.

"Yes, there was a young man pretending that he was a police officer, but he had no identification on him, and he was doing business with a known fence... Our officers were happy to overhear the fence and his customer negotiating and catching them both in the act..."

Stone insisted on seeing the young man. His famous Stone stare made the officer pale. "But Sir, I can't just let him go! The captain..."

Meanwhile Ed Brown had contacted the commanding officer of Central, Captain Roy Jenkins. Jenkins was friendly and helpful until Brown expected him to let that nameless prisoner loose who pretended to be a policeman.

Ironside had overheard the discussion. He realized that his mild-mannered assistant wouldn't get anywhere with a captain defending his territory. He took the receiver out of Ed's hand and gave the captain the worst dressing down Jenkins had received in more than twenty years.

"... and I want that inspector set be free immediately. He works for me on a murder case," which wasn't actually the case, but it was close enough, "and you should know better than to obstruct a murder investigation, _Captain_ Jenkins!" He didn't even need to mention that _Captain_ Jenkins might very soon be something else than a _Captain_ – something he would not like.

He would take care of the matter immediately, assured Jenkins, and Ironside threw the receiver onto the cradle with his usual verve.

Ed Brown shook his head and grinned. "Do you have any idea how good it feels to be on your side, Sir?"

"Yes, I have a fair idea sergeant, because I am _always_ on my side!"

* * *

The door behind Mike opened and in stormed a slightly disheveled looking Captain Jenkins. "Why the hell are you detaining an inspector of homicide, Perry?" he yelled at the poor officer. "How silly does a policeman have to be to obstruct a _murder_ investigation?!"

Totally confused, Perry tried to understand what he had done wrong. Sometimes following orders was more difficult than trying to understand the women.

"Come on, buddy boy, let's get out of here!" commanded Lt. Stone with a stony face.

Keller however was not able to entirely suppress a triumphant grin when he retrieved his watch and his gun. How he would get back his wallet and badge was another matter though.

"Thanks for bailing me out, Mike!" Steve said on their way to Mike's car.

"You better keep this in mind, and also that I might have found you much later just because I could not be sure that your phone wasn't stored in your fridge again!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After a Saturday that brought no progress Steve Keller and Ed Brown decided to go on a quick undercover mission as Christmas shoppers in different stores. They made it just before closing time. The idea was to follow two of the young Santas. Ed's suspect was Jock Polsky, who couldn't have seen him at the Poly the day before.

For Steve's trained eyes it wasn't difficult to detect the students among their older colleagues.

There was a chance of two out of seven that they were watching the right one – or maybe more, if there was more than one trickster among them. To find their possible co-workers among the hundreds of children in the warehouses would be next to impossible though.

Suddenly Ed noticed how 'his' Santa put a small parcel under his costume.  
Glancing around Jock realized that the lanky man who had been hiding in a corner had seen him do it. With unexpected speed he turned around and ran up the stairs. Ed had to squeeze between the people, then he reached the stairs as well and followed, pulling his gun.  
Jock had no chance against the athletic sergeant. Seconds after the kid Ed reached the top floor of the building. On the car deck he cornered the Santa.

"You won't shoot. I know you. You are 'Saint Eddie', the former model student of Polytechnic high school. Ol' Mayers could not keep himself from raving about you yesterday."

Ed stopped dead in his tracks.

That was very helpful...

"Forget about 'Saint Eddie'," he said coolly. "I'm no more 'Saint Eddie' than you are 'Santa Claus'."  
Nonchalantly he holstered the .38. "And forget about running too."

"Mayers said so. 'The fastest gentleman ever on a football field'. If I don't cooperate I'm in trouble, right?"

"You're in trouble anyway, I'm afraid. But listen, Jock, I don't know why, but somehow I believe that you're all right, no matter what you have done. I'm on your side. Let me help you."

Just for a second the youngster hesitated. What he read in the sergeant's brown eyes matched what he had heard about him. It seemed to convince him. He reached under his Santa suit and pulled out a wallet – Ed's wallet!

"I suppose you need this."

* * *

From his car Ed called the director of the store where Keller was probably about to follow another young Santa. The director managed to catch Steve before he left the building. He told him to wait for his colleague at the entrance.

Jock guided them to the Tenderloin.

"Hey, that's where you went yesterday!" exclaimed Steve. "But that fence is still in prison, isn't he?"

"We're not going to see the fence," explained Jock.

In the cellar of the house they met a group of boys, some teenagers, some only small children, sitting on the ground, on pillows and on chairs.

"People, this is the police," announced Jock. "Game's over. Ed here is one of us though."

The first thing Steve noticed after his eyes had accustomed to the twilight was – Bernie, the little witness of Wednesday's shooting!

As Chief Ironside liked to point out... he didn't believe in coincidence.

As if he wanted to flee the child stood up. A clink made him stop short. He looked down between his feet where a little shining object had fallen down. It looked very much like a bullet casing.

Steve bent down. "May I?"  
He picked it up. The caliber was 7.65 – fitting to a Walter PPK.

"Where do you have this from?" he asked.

"I found it on my way to school," answered Bernie.

For Ed time seemed to freeze.

He looked into the innocent blue eyes. How could such a young child lie?  
Ed's family had been poor as well, but never would he have lied.  
Yet the world had changed over the last twenty years, he thought. It had become awful tough. It didn't allow the children be children anymore. If only these kids had the chance to live in a world like the one he grew up in. Children were still children. They weren't born criminals. They were lovable and in dire need of affection. This boy could not be an exception. He wasn't lying because he was bad. There had to be something much more meaningful behind his lie.

"I'm so sorry," he said slowly, sadly. "I wish you could trust me."

The kid could not know what the sergeant was thinking about, but he knew that he could not go on lying, not to this man. Desperately he threw himself at Ed. The sergeant felt tears starting to wet his shirt.

"I had to do it," Bernie sobbed.

_What did you have to do?_ Steve wanted to ask...


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_What did you have to do?_ Steve wanted to ask, but he felt that his usual quick mind was racing too fast right now.

"Whatever you did, I won't leave you alone in this," said Ed quietly.

He picked the boy up and sat down on the only sofa in the room, the child in his arms. He gave him the time he needed.

Slowly, haltingly, the child started to tell, "Old Amos wanted to stand up but fell down. He was rattling, kinda. When I asked him what was wrong with him he didn't talk, he only pressed his hand on his heart. My grandfather had a heart attack once. Therefore I thought that Amos had one too. I thought that the people from the hospitals would not help him cuz he could not pay. But if he was a victim of a crime, they would, I thought. I took his gun and shot into the air. It worked."

Ed nodded. That was some great thinking of an eight-year-old. "Just wondering - who did old Amos get the gun from?"

Jock answered, "I gave it to him. We took it the other day from some rich guy; thought that Amos needed it more than that dude, to defend himself if necessary."

"Then you called the ambulance, Bernie, and when the police arrived you told them that Amos had been shot?"

"No. They took the gun and sniffled at it. They asked me if I had seen the people who had shot Amos. I said no. It was true, wasn't it? Because he had not been shot by anyone. They asked if I had heard the shot. I said yes. That was true as well – the bang was actually very loud."

Obviously the officers hadn't considered that the kid might have fired the gun.  
And he in turn should not have believed the report without further investigation.

It was probably the most peculiar explanation for a shooting Steve had ever heard, and that made it very believable. Nobody could invent such a wild story.

Bernie had spent himself emotionally. He clung to Ed as if he were the only stable point in his universe. The calm sergeant would want to be there for him, Steve thought. But there was still the matter of the thefts to be cleared. It was Steve's turn to take care of that now. How should he get the truth out of these young thieves? He would have to get them to talk...

Yet Jock beat him to it. "Inspector, may I show you something – or rather somebody - upstairs?" he asked softly and stood up.

Steve followed him. Jock knocked at the door on the first floor where Steve had heard the voices the day before.

"Come in!" a child's voice shouted.

They entered a small, dimly lit room. The furniture looked old and shabby. In a wheelchair sat a very thin teenage girl. Her body seemed to be twisted, but out of vivid green eyes she looked curiously at her visitors. "Hi Jock – you are early!"

"Mary – meet inspector Keller. Inspector Keller, this is Mary Bennett."

"Nice to meet you, inspector! You must have a very interesting job! I would love to hear of your cases – if you are allowed to talk about them!"

Steve, who was rarely at a loss for words, had no idea what to say.

But Mary chatted happily on, "Jock brings me what I need. I don't know what I would do without him. He's a great guy. Last Sunday was my birthday. Look what he gave me!" She showed a bracelet around her bony arm. "I told him that I don't need any jewelry. What would I need it for? Nobody except my friends ever sees me, and they like me without any adornment. But he said that I could sell the bracelet whenever I needed some money."

"Mary, we can't stay. But I wanted you to meet Inspector Keller in case he comes back to you some time. See you soon!"

Finally Steve's famous charm turned partly back and he managed at least a few nice words, then they left and went downstairs again.

"You stole that bracelet last Saturday, right?" It was one of the stolen items Eve's relatives had described.

"Yes, I have." It sounded guilty, but not too much so.

"What were you thinking?! You can't just present people with things you stole!"

"Why not?"

Steve stopped abruptly on the stairs. Jock was no dimwit. He had to know the difference between mine and thine and between right and wrong.

There was just a trace of defiance in Jock's voice when he went on, "Robin Hood could. He took things from the rich and gave them to the poor. That's what we do. Is it right that Mary, who is a cripple already, has nothing and others have more than enough? And there are many others like her: poor and handicapped. All we do is try to put things right."

Steve snorted, rather from perplexity than from disapproval. Robin Hood in the twentieth century...

* * *

Ed was still in the same place with Bernie in his arms, listening to the boys who seemed to tell him about the troubles in their area.

Steve explained the story of the modern Robin Hoods to him.

Brown didn't seem to be surprised. After Bernie's story he had probably expected something of this kind.

Jock on the other hand had to admit to himself that he liked the young inspector a lot, but he wasn't sure if he would understand him, unlike the tall, quiet sergeant who had always sided with the poor and the weak, if Dr. Mayers was to be believed.

Therefore it was him whom he addressed, "What happens now?"

"You know that you can't go on stealing, don't you?"

Jock nodded.

"Do you trust me?" Ed repeated his earlier question, looking around.

Several heads nodded.

"I'd like to talk this through with my boss, Chief Ironside. I want you to join us in police headquarters tomorrow."

To Steve's amazement they nodded again. "All of us?"

"All of you." At that he got ready to leave, but one of the younger teenagers kept him back.

"Sir, is it true what ole' Mayers tells about you? That you were at Poly and won a scholarship and that you played together with the famous guys like Ed Burns, Ted Cano and so on? What were they like? And who else did you know...?

The sergeant took a deep breath. Was this the right time to talk football?

Maybe it was. They were kids, and they were at a crossroads. They were looking for signposts to find their way in life.  
He wasn't sure how much he should tell them though. He didn't want to say anything bad about their heroes. But then he decided for the truth.

"Some of them were real bullies. They used their superior strength to pester the younger or weaker ones. There is no reason why you should feel inferior to them."

"Did you fight the bullies when they tormented the little ones? Is that why old Mayers called you 'gentleman'?"

"Well – sometimes, yes," Ed admitted. Actually there had been some black eyes and bruises, but he didn't want to encourage them to fight. "But most of the time it was enough to tell them to leave."

"And you think we should do that as well, right?"

Ed smiled. "Some of you are stronger than I was at your age."

It made them proud and they seemed to grow an inch at least.

"Then – don't you think that we should try to become football stars instead of Robin Hoods?"

"It depends. Football stars don't need to be bullies. But what do you think you can do really well?"

For a minute they remained silent.

"I'm best at making people laugh," said Jock.

"I'm good at mugging people. I think I could play a magician as well," said an agile Asian.

"I'm good at floor exercises," said Bernie. A few others added to the list.

"Where does this leave us?" asked the detective in real Ironside manner, feeling that they would find their own solution.

"We could start a show together; perform tricks to entertain people, for instance handicapped ones or people in a home."

"Give it a thought!" Steve encouraged them.

Jock showed them out. "Sergeant...?" he asked almost timidly.

"Yes, Jock?"

"Ol' Mayers said that you were a model for the younger kids."

"Did he?"

"Well, what he meant... the kids should learn from us, like being honest, right?"

"Uh huh."

"We'll try, mister. Honest."

"That's good enough for me."

* * *

The two detectives had to retrieve Steve's car, then they split up.

While Ed went to report back to Ironside, Steve headed for the hospital. He was lucky: Amos was now awake and alert.

He seemed to be more than happy in his warm, clean bed.

"Maybe this heart attack is the best thing which could happen to me," he smiled. "I'm too old for the streets. That way I have a fine place to stay over Christmas!"

Silently Steve promised himself that he would find a place for old Amos in a homeless shelter. There was one supported by the Salvation Army. There had to be some room for an old man. Amos would not be put back onto the streets.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Sunday morning, Ironside's office:**

"Chief, you are not going to give these kids chili with that amount of chili peppers in it, are you?"

In the background, from the billiard table, Eve and Mark watched the duo in amusement: The Chief adding merrily more and more of the hot stuff to his favorite meal. Ed Brown, who was usually so faithful to the Chief, risked something which came very close to mutiny. He was afraid that this kind of food wasn't medically advisable for growing children.

"How should these kids become gourmets if nobody ever offers them any real good food? And real good food is chili. And chili is all the better, the more chili peppers there are in it."  
At that, the issue had been dealt with for Ironside.

Towards noon Mike and Steve joined Ironside's team in his office.

Soon afterwards, Jock's entire gang walked in, among them another two out of the seven young Santas. Obviously the remaining four were not involved in the robberies. As a small token they presented Steve with his wallet, badge inclusive, which had resurfaced miraculously.

Understandably they were shy at first. They knew that their verdict depended very much on the famous man in the wheelchair, but after Mark and Steve challenged them – who had the nerve to try the Chief's chili? – they plucked up courage. They didn't keep back their joking comments about Ironside's cooking.

After the meal Mark excused himself because he had an important exam the next day. The rest of them gathered together around the small table under the window. Ed found a place on a couch with Bernie on his knees, squeezed in between two other small children. Steve sat on the ground with most of the teenagers, beautiful Eve at his side. Mike was lucky to get one of the few chairs.

Ironside took the initiative. "What did you think you were doing? You couldn't sincerely believe that you would get away with playing 'Robin Hood', did you?"

Jock had done quite some thinking. "Yeah, right, what we did was wrong, and I promise that we won't do it anymore. But see - Jesus Christ came to make all people equal. That's Christmas. Now look out into the world! Obviously he wants us to help him a little to make people more equal."

"Only the poor?" shot the Chief back.

"The poor win when they are equal."

Ironside contradicted, "Everybody wins when all have the same rights. There are no losers at Christmas.

"Do something where there are only winners. Get the rich to donate. That would be money earned honestly. With that you could support poor kids with handicaps."

Ed thought of the ideas they had developed the previous evening, "What about that show you wanted to start?"

The boys were easy to get enthusiastic about this plan.

"You could do it for rich people as well. They would donate money for your projects," Eve added, "I know some clubs where you could be invited. How about that?"

Within minutes the ideas became very animated... and maybe a bit over the top, but that didn't matter. Eve even encouraged their effervescent ideas.

Finally Steve could not keep quiet anymore. He had learned that Ed Brown was a very honest man and a by-the-book officer; how would he and his no-nonsense boss handle the cases at hand? Jock and his friends actually _had_ got in conflict with the law, hadn't they?

"What cases?" asked Ironside merrily. "Old Amos had a heart attack, which is confirmed by the hospital. A little boy found a gun and shot into the air. No harm was done. The gun will be given back to its owner. That's all the 'case' there ever was. This office still has its impressive crime clearance rate. And what thefts are you talking about? I don't know of any thefts which were reported to the police – and anyway they would be none of my business. People should take care of their packages in the stores. There are very capable store detectives around, I've been told. The only problem left is who will clean up the mess in my kitchen. But I have a well-trained staff. And since homicide called us for help in a homicide which was no homicide at all, I suggest the least they could do were to help with the dishes! Therefore I am quite confident that this will be taken care of soon."

Ed turned red. "Sir, I have promised to swing by my old Poly teachers in about half an hour. Thought that they needed some cheering up. Actually I've got to hurry..."

Steve smiled. "I'd love to help, but I have an appointment with an officer of the Salvation Army to plan old Amos' move into the shelter for old people."

Eve stood up. "You know, Chief, I'm very talented for kitchen work, but I promised Jock and his boys to go to Kezar Stadium with them. It's the 49ers against the Dallas Cowboys this afternoon. We were just about to leave!"

When they had all left Mike rolled up his sleeves while Ironside picked up the dish towel. Grinning like a Cheshire cat the austere Chief remarked, "I sure know how to get rid of them, don't I?"

"You do, you do! It's nice to have a few quiet moments between us, Bob. But actually they are a great bunch of kids, our assistants, aren't they? Studious, caring and dedicated."

"Sure. That's why I thought... well, it's probably just sentimental seasonal nonsense, so please don't tell them... but I thought, with Christmas coming up..."


End file.
